


The Tri-Wizard Four

by Yingfa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Spoilers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yingfa/pseuds/Yingfa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A powerful spell used to hoodwink a powerful artifact. What unsuspected consequences can that action bring?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_“Both of us.”_

_“What?”_

_“We’ll take it at the same time. It’s still a Hogwarts victory. We’ll tie for it.”_

Wide, incredulous eyes.

_“You — you sure?”_

_“Yeah. Yeah . . . we’ve helped each other out, haven’t we? We both got here. Let’s just take it together.”_

Disbelief.

_“You’re on. Come here.”_

Pain, ripping up his leg.

_“On three, right? One — two — three —”_

Cold metal under his fingertips, a hook behind his navel, howling wind and swirling colors.

 

_“Where are we?”_

Darkness. A graveyard.

_“Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?”_

_“Nope. Is this supposed to be part of the task?”_

Fear, nervousness.

_“I dunno. Wands out, d’you reckon?”_

_“Yeah.”_

The hair on the back of his head standing on edge.

_“Someone’s coming."_

Agony.

_“Kill the spare.”_

A wand moving.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

Green light.

 

Dumbledore.

_“He’s back. He’s back. Voldemort.”_

 

_“He can’t be back, Dumbledore, he just can’t be . . .”_

A stupid, frightened little man.

 

_“You’ll see me very soon, Harry. I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don’t you?”_

_“Yeah. Yeah . . . of course I do.”_

Hidden pain. As always, others went first.

 

_“It wasn’t your fault, Harry."_

_“I told him to take the cup with me.”_

A hug, more sweet and more painful than anything he had ever experienced.

 

Fifteen-year-old Harry Potter opened his eyes with a weary sigh and stared unseeingly at his darkened ceiling. The lack of pounding on his door told him that for once he had managed to keep his terrified screams to himself and hadn’t woken his irascible uncle, but that brought him little comfort. Another boy, someone he had begun to think of as a friend, was dead.

Albus Dumbledore had once told his eleven-year-old self that dead was the beginning of the next great adventure. Then, the words had been absolution to a young child that had just killed one of his teachers with his bare hands and that had just been told his actions would bring death upon two more people. Now, to his older and more jaded self, they were nothing but condemnation.

He almost found it funny how his mind had latched mostly unto events that had brought him no real pain. The only thing even remotely scary within the whole nightmare was Cedric’s death, and there wasn’t even a glimpse of his confrontation with Voldemort. Perhaps he was so screwed up that the possibility of his own death had even less importance than Fudge’s stubborn denials?

Knowing he’d never get back to sleep, Harry sat up on his meager bed and reached for his glasses and for the book and torch he kept on the rickety desk. Weeks into his summer vacation and he couldn’t help the feeling that he was missing something, something important. He’d prowled his little room, cleaned it until it nearly shone, had read all of his and Dudley’s books, done all of his homework and all of the chores his relatives had set him and he’d still not managed to get rid of that feeling.

It was only the day before that he’d realized that he’d skipped a book in his revision.

The photo album was cool under his fingertips, the pages nearly glowing under the fragile moonlight that slipped between the newest bars to graze his window. His relatives had not appreciated the twins’ sense of humor after the Ton-Tongue Toffee incident and had decided to cage him again. That also meant that he couldn’t turn on the light to inspect the pictures more closely. If someone had asked at the beginning of the summer, he’d have assured them that he knew the album front to back.

The last two nights proved him that he didn’t. He’d never noticed before just how glossy and soft his mom’s hair seemed to be or the silver snowflake pendant she wore in some of the pictures. He’d never noticed how his parents’ wedding rings matched each other or the impish glint on his dad’s eyes as he spun his mother during their wedding dance. As he turned pages he saw his own baby eyes change from grayish blue to emerald green, watched the soft tufts of hair on his small head thicken. Saw love he could not remember being all but poured on him and wished he could turn back time.

And then, as fortuitously as they’d appeared, his parents were gone and he was no longer the sweet eyed baby, but an eleven-year-old in Hogwarts robes, saying goodbye to his friends after their first year. A twelve-year-old with bruised, tired eyes, standing with a recently un-petrified Hermione, a recently released Hagrid and a slightly dazed looking Ron. A thirteen-year-old, helping Ron stand on his still tender leg, while Hermione stood beside them and nervously played with the thin golden chain that hung from her neck.

His fingers went numb as he stared at the picture, at that very thin, very innocuous chain. An idea flashed past his mind’s eye so fast he barely managed to catch the gist of it, and then it returned at full speed, pounding itself into his head. He tried to imagine how it could work and found himself nearly dizzy with sudden hope and excitement.

Hermione had once told him that awful things had happened when wizards had meddled with time.

He’d just have to prove that wrong.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't figure out how to "fake" accents while writting, sorry.

Going from words to action was taking a bit more than he had expected.  
  
To begin with, there was no way he’d manage the whole thing on his own. There were too many variables to his plan, too many ways things could get bollocksed up, for him to control and fix them all.  
  
So he needed help.  
  
The adults were out, of course. There wasn’t a single one he knew that didn’t report to Dumbledore one way or the other, and if the old man got word of “The Plan” he could kiss it goodbye. Even Sirius and Remus, Marauders as they were, would find themselves conflicted over what he intended.   
  
On one side, a great prank. On the other, Harry’s safety.  
  
He couldn’t bet everything on whether or not a prank was more important than himself on the Marauders’ minds.  
  
His peers fell in the same category. Hermione would have a coronary, and then she’d nag him until death or until he told Dumbledore, whichever happened first. Ron, while loyal and a great strategist, would sooner or later spill the beans to Hermione, or he’d get pissed off at Harry for some reason and scream the whole thing to the winds.  
  
Even if he’d been willing to overlook the con’s, something inside him told him he couldn’t trust them. At first he’d thought it was simply sulkiness. Weeks into the summer, and he still hadn’t heard from his friends. Well… not really. Every single letter that he’d managed to pry of Hedwig or Erroll through the bars of his prison had been little more than empty words. It’d hurt, more than he was willing to acknowledge, realizing that they were lying, by omission, to him. But Hermione had lied to him the same way before. Ron had barely even spoken to him for nearly half of the past year. And he’d forgiven them both fully.  
  
But this was different. Somewhere, deep inside himself, something told him that this was one adventure his friends shouldn’t be included in.  
  
So he’d gone through his mental catalogue of allies and enemies, trying to find someone he could ask for help.  
  
The incredibly short list he’d come up with had him nearly slapping himself, it was so obvious. He needed people capable of the job, whom would respect him enough not to laugh or nag at him, whom would be willing to help.  
  
He needed his fellow Tri-wizard champions.  
  
Both Fleur and Victor had expressed their regrets about the happenings. Both had offered their help should it be needed. Both were extremely skilled, the best from their respective schools, and their abilities would balance his own nicely.  
  
And somehow, he trusted them a lot more, when it came to this, than he trusted anyone else.  
  
It’d been hard, writing the letters. He had to sell them his idea, without giving them too much of an explanation, and without being able to adjust his words the way he would if he could speak to them face to face.  
  
Hedwig had nearly bitten him when he’d handed her both letters. The things were big and heavy enough to be considered essays, and he’d had the guts of asking her to go to both France and Bulgaria, wait for answers, and still be back as soon as possible, preferably within the next few days. His owl was extremely smart and capable. She was also a very swift messenger. But what he was asking from her was a lot, even if she’d been a hippogriff. If Fleur and Victor answered immediately, she’d fly hundreds, if not thousands, of miles with very little rest or food. Still, she’d gone, smart, brave little thing that she was, obviously understanding how important it was to him.  
  
So now he was waiting. And planning. And being driven insane by his relatives. In various amounts and permutations. For three whole days.  
  
He’d figured out the who, the how, the when, the what. He’d packed and repacked everything he owned. He was ready.  
  
And now everything depended on two people he wasn’t a 100% sure would help him. Yes, they’d offered, but he was pretty sure neither of them had been thinking about this sort of thing.  
  
The sudden booming of thunder was like a siren’s call to him, pulling him from where he sat on his bed and to his window. The night sky was covered in cotton candy colored clouds, lightning flashing between them. It was an amazing sight, made even more so when every light in what seemed like half the city went out at once.  
  
From the living room came Dudley’s below of outrage, along with his parents’ voices as they tried to bribe their son with increasingly outrageous promises.  
  
The next flash of lightning showed Harry something that sent his heart into a race of excitement.  
  
A petite, blonde woman stood in the middle of Privet Drive. Her hair was unbound and whipped crazily around her shoulders, but she seemed uncaring as her slender arms raised, pointing her dark-colored wand to the heavens.  
  
Beside her, his hands holding two brooms, stood a tall, dark haired man. His eyes, equally dark and nearly hidden beneath thick eyebrows, were watching his companion work, but turned towards Harry as if they sensed his presence. On his shoulder stood Harry’s faithful owl, her light plumage stark against his dark clothes.  
  
Fleur gave one last twirl with her wand and pocketed it. Her blue eyes turned to meet Harry’s own and even from where he stood he could see her sudden, dazzling smile. A few words had Hedwig shifting onto her shoulder, and Victor marching towards Number 4. The Bulgarian wizard mounted his broom and easily maneuvered himself until he was inches away from Harry, only separated by the bars and window.  
  
-“Hello, Mr. Krum. Were you in the neighborhood?”  
  
Victor's answering grin was fierce.  
  
-“Something like that, Mr. Potter. Miss Delacour and I wondered whether or not you’d like to be sprung.”  
  
-“I’d be sincerely appreciative of your's and the kind lady’s assistance in such a matter. After you tell me where, exactly, you asked the lovely Miss Granger to the Yule Ball.”  
  
-“Why, it was in the third to last row of the Transfiguration section of the Hogwarts’ Library, five days after the Ball was announced.”  
  
Both of them grinned, as Victor set to work and casted _dilabor_ at the bars. Before their eyes, the metal began to melt. While the spell worked, Harry made a dive for his trunk and quickly pulled it and Hedwig’s cage up to the window. A second thought had him pulling his broom out of his trunk.  
  
As soon as the bars were gone, Victor slipped into the room and casted _relevo stringo_ at the trunk and cage, making them smaller than matchboxes and, as Harry verified once he picked them up, lighter than feathers. Both tiny objects went into his pockets and he quickly climbed on his broom and followed Victor out the window.  
  
He nearly lost control of his broom when Fleur all but ripped him of it. At her touch, something inside him finally relaxed. This was right. This was as it should be.  
  
Pulling back slightly from her embrace let him take a good look at their faces. Shadows under weary eyes, slightly sunken cheeks, skin paler than he remembered. Better fed mirrors of his own. That made him frown. His guilty conscience explained his state. There were no reasons, that he knew of, for theirs.  
  
They noticed his expression and shared meaningful looks.  
  
-“This isn’t the place, Harry. The storm won’t last and we need to leave before someone notices us. I promise will explain.”  
  
Fleur’s Parisian accent and her lovely, earnest face were tough sellers.  
  
-“Soon?”  
  
His own suspicions made them smile.  
  
-“Soon, darling. Now let’s go.”  
  
Victor's arms went around both of their shoulders and, with a pop, they were gone.


	3. Chapter 2

They’d appeared in a wind-swept field. The moonlight shone brightly upon them, throwing into sharp relief their faces and bodies, the long strands of waist high grass and the few, far away trees that could be seen.

For a second, things were magical.

Skin turned moonlight pale, golden hair glowed like spun gold while midnight strands turned to velvet. Even their clothes looked mystical, floating about in the wind, while the sharp ozone-like smell of recently used magic vanished into the sweetness of wild flowers.

It was only for an instant, but the memory of it was imprinted deeply into his mind. Somehow, for all its dreamlike quality, at that moment things became real. For the first time since school had ended, it sank in that everything in his memory had happened, that his nightmares were simply expressions of truth. And for the first time, “The Plan” really came to life. It was the course he had chosen, the reality he wanted to create. The only one he was willing to live on.

And then the fact that he wasn’t wearing a cloak, or even a coat, finally registered. His suddenly breaking in shivers attracted his companions’ attention. A quick _amiculum_ from Fleur conjured a thick, dark-green colored cloak, while Victor’s _foveo_ instantly gave it a toasty warmness that he knew could last for days. Blue eyes quickly inspected his outfit and slender shoulders settled into a gallic shrug.

-“He’ll need better things, Victor. These are much too big and won’t last him long.”

Victor gave them both looks, and finally shrugged as well.

-“We’ll be there in a couple of hours, and then we’ll see what can be done.”

The tall Bulgarian pointed his wand at each of them in succession, and casted _involvo_ at each of their cloaks.

-“That should keep them closed. We must go.”

The mounted their brooms and took off into the night. There were barely any clouds here, obviously far away enough from the conjured storm that had raged over Privet Drive, but the air was still very cold. And getting colder the higher they flew.

Harry wasn’t very sure about where they were, or where they were going, but he basked in the feelings of trust and rightness just the others’ presence invoked in him. Still, he couldn’t help but wish for a warm pair of gloves or, better yet, a thick pair of mittens. As carefully as he could, he pulled the cloak towards his cold hands and managed to pin it between them and his broom. Not ideal, but he’d avoid frostbite if he was lucky.

They flew for hours. He wasn’t quiet sure how many of them, though, but he could tell by the way the moonlight and the shadows shifted beneath them. They’d avoided the towns, with their bright lights, for the short while that they flew over land, but afterwards it was a straight ride, over deep, dark water.

After the first few minutes, he’d realized that they were actually leaving the country, that he had unknowingly embarked in his first international trip.

The swooping feeling around his stomach reflected his complete lack of concern and his excitement. Dumbledore was going to murder him if he somehow got his hands on him. He couldn’t keep back a fierce smile at the very thought of the old wizard’s face when they gave him the news that his favorite pet had flown the coop. For the first time, the greater good had taken a flying leap, literally. Along with the stupid familial protection of the Dursleys’ home.

By the time land reappeared below them, he was drowsy with cold and tiredness. He barely even noticed the towns and cities they passed, at least until they arrived to Paris. There was no way he could miss that, as the whole city blazed beautifully under his eyes. Fleur changed places with Victor, taking point while he took the rear, and angled them deeper into the city. Soon, buildings gave way to a beautiful park, with several buildings within and nearby, and, at the very back, the Palais du Louvre. He landed neatly, and couldn’t resist spinning in place to take in the sight of it all. The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, the terraces, the Galerie Nationale, the Place de la Concorde with its lightened Ferris wheel, and far, far away, the Tour Eiffel. The names had sounded snooty when his primary teacher had insisted he learn them in French, but seeing the real thing… It was breathtaking.

Fleur hadn’t stopped, though, and was already marching towards the huge octagonal pond near the Galerie, which probably meant there was no time for sightseeing. Victor had remained beside Harry, patiently waiting for him to get his bearings, and he staid beside him as he hurried to catch up with the young half-veela.

She didn’t stop when she reached the water’s edge, but neatly stepped onto it, walking above the surface towards the center of the pond, where she spun to face them.

-“Well? We need to hurry.”

Harry reached out a toe and tapped it onto the water. Where he had expected his trainer to sink, he felt something slightly slippery and hard, a bit like stepping on ice. More confident, he stepped fully and marched towards Fleur, only then noticing that his taller companion had waited until he started walking to step on the water. That got Victor a dirty look, no one liked being used as a guinea pig, which was answered by a slightly rueful smile.

As soon as they reached her, Fleur gave a couple of little stomps with her right foot and muttered a quick _foris_. Whatever had been holding them about the water suddenly vanished, and Harry had a single second to think about how wet everything was going to get before he found himself falling, through perfectly un-wet and breathable air, to land lightly on a cobbled street.

-“Welcome to the Allée de la Magie Cachée, or the Alley of the Hidden Magic. This is like your Diagon Alley, Harry. We’ll get supplies here, but first we need to rest for a bit and talk.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, but started down the road. It was very late, and most of the stores were closed. Still, the Alley was twice as wide as Diagon, with old fashioned lamp posts set every few yards. He could see clothes shops, apothecaries, bookstores, Quidditch shops, and more as they passed, but the robes on the displays had different cuts, the books were written in French, the Quidditch uniforms had different colors. Even the scents of food coming from the few little bistros that were still open smelled different. Was this how all wizarding centers were like? Different and yet the same? He wished again for the time to explore, not only this magical street but its sisters from all over the world, but knew it would have to wait. Maybe when Voldemort was dead?

Fleur guided them about halfway down the alley and into a medium sized building, which turned out to be a bed-and-breakfast. Rapid-fire french got them a room and, much to his stomach’s joy, a more than decently sized meal.

The whole place sported furniture made of dark woods and lush fabrics. He’d have expected something more along the lines of the Leaky Cauldron, but the change was welcome, since the tapestries made the room less drafty, and the chair he took near the fire all but swallowed him in nice defrosting warmth. The food was good, most of the dishes unknown but tasty, and was the last thing his body needed to finally relax, which it did, straight into after-meal grogginess.

Gentle hands poked and prodded him from the chair and towards a large bed. Larger hands took over then and quickly stripped him down to his underwear. His eyes were already closed, but he heard two voices, one light and the other deep, mutter what sounded like curses. Then the gentle hands were back and helping him lie down on a cloud, even as they covered him in the embers of a lowly burning fire.

The last thing he knew was the soft and cool touch of a feather on his forehead.


	4. Chapter 3

The amount of light that filtered through his eyelids told him it was late, probably mid-morning, and that meant he had slept right through the Dursleys’ breakfast. For a second, Harry expected his Aunt to shriek his ear off. There was no way his relatives would let him “laze around” while perfectly healthy. And, while somewhat sore, he was no-where near death’s doors.

And then, in the next instant, he realized he was no longer at the Dursleys. He was miles away, in France, within the wizarding world, cuddled up between two very warm, larger bodies, one of which was distinctly female.

Finally opening his eyes told him his other senses hadn’t lied. He was using Victor as some sort of oversized teddy bear, while Fleur spooned against his back. The bed was toasty warm, and so comfortable he could barely even feel the mattress. The fire was low, embers really, and the table proudly displayed the results of three healthy teenagers attacking wolf-style a minor feast.

While his body pillow was deeply asleep, his personal blanket was carding her fingers through his hair in a most delightful way, one that nearly had him purring. A soft giggle told him he wasn’t fooling her with his attempt at pretending to be asleep to get more petting.

-“I’m sorry for waking you, but we really need to get going. They have to have realized you’re missing by now and, while they can’t track apparition, they can recognize the magical trail as belonging to Victor and I. Our parents know they might get unexpected guests, but Dumbledore won’t allow the trail to grow cold without moving every stone in his way. We don’t have a lot of time if we are going to hear your plan and get whatever supplies we might need.”

-“You also promised me some explanations.”

-“I did, didn’t I? You do know curiosity killed the cat, little lion?”

-“It was a house cat.”

-“Really?”

-“Mhmm.”

The body pillow decided that was the right time to let out a low growl.

-“Some of us are trying to sleep.”

-“And not succeeding.”

One dark eye opened and leveled a glare at his cheeky smile.

-“Prat.”

-“Bath, both of you!”

A wave of Fleur’s wand and a decisive _proicio_ had them both tossed of the bed and in the direction of the bathroom.

Cleaning up took very little time, especially once their stomachs had decided to finally wake up and make known their displeasure about the late breakfast. Over croissants with jam and cups dark coffee, Harry told them about his stay at the Dursleys, the way his mind wouldn’t stop worrying and, finally, about “The Plan” and why he had called upon them.

Once he’d set all his cards on the table, he watched his companions and waited for the verdict.

What he got was a little different.

-“I need you to listen to me Harry and not to interrupt. Can you do that?”

-“I… Sure.”

-“At the beginning of the summer, we all went our different ways. You, to your relatives; Victor, to his parents’ home in Bulgaria, and I, to my parents’ château in the magical side of Île-de-France. I even started searching for a job. But I couldn’t stop the feeling that something was missing, that something was wrong. I checked and rechecked my relatives, my friends, anyone I knew. When that didn’t pan out, I started on my possessions. There simply wasn’t anything missing, nothing was even out of place.

“For two weeks I struggled with my search, and then one of my father’s friends came for a visit. He’s a juge d'instance, a sort of magistrate. When he heard about what was happening, he made a connection I had not.

“For most of last year, all of us were bound through a magical contract, one of the strongest in existence. The Goblet of Fire has existed for hundreds of years, perhaps even thousands. No one knows where it came from, or who made it. All they know is that it has the capability of selecting the person that’s best equipped to complete a specific task and to bind that person until said task is completed. Someone figured out how to make it select more than one person at a time, but no one’s managed to change it, safely, beyond that.

“I told Messier Blundell what Mister Moody had said about the Goblet, about the _Confundus_ Charm. He nearly had a stroke, he was so distressed. Apparently, hoodwinking the Goblet that way twisted the enchantments on it. He thinks and, given what both you and Victor have told me, I agree, that the bond part of the enchantment was also twisted.”

-“What does that mean?!”

He didn’t mean to ask, he really didn’t. But the way Fleur was looking at them both was making him nervous. The worst part was that it apparently showed, because he didn’t even get a disappointed look for interrupting.

-“It bound us, didn’t it?”

-“What?!”

-“Victor, please. I’m the one telling the story, remember?”

-“You’re making a dramatic pause.”

Fleur gave a little sigh and pouted.

-“Wait! Go back to the messed up bonding part!”

-“Oh, ok. You impossible boys that won’t even let me make it more interesting.

“Messier Blundell said that when he cast his spell, the fake Mister Moody probably didn’t even consider anything other than getting you into the Tournament. So he probably didn’t focus the spell on the selection part of the enchantments, but did a general _Confundus_. That probably… how do you say… bollocksed it all up. So, when the Goblet attempted to bind us to the Tournament, it ended up binding us to each other, see?”

-“And that’s why, even after the Tournament was over, we still felt as if something were missing?”

-“Almost. Because something IS missing. There were FOUR champions selected for the Tournament, FOUR champions were bound. We are still feeling something missing, because Cedric isn’t here.

“The bond is bringing us together. It dragged Victor to me, all the way from Bulgaria. And then it drove us to you. Didn’t you wonder why we were so fast in getting to England? Your owl caught up to us mid-flight.

“And now, that very same bond is trying to make sure we recover the last piece of our puzzle. It will push and push and push until we do. Messier Blundell talked to several of his colleagues, and they all agreed in that, if his theory was correct, then there’s nothing, not even death, that will stop it.”

-“What will happen once we get him back, though? I don’t know about Harry, but I know a few things about bonds. And this one was made for a purpose. For all we know it’s meant to help us start a business selling radishes.”

-“Messier Blundell didn’t know. Only the one that influenced the magic of the Goblet can tell us.”

-“Could.”

-“What?”

-“Minister Fudge. He had the impostor Kissed without even interrogating him first.”

-“Kissed? As in by a Dementor?”

-“Yeah. The night of the Third Task.”

-“Idiot.”

-“ Fils d'une chienne!”

That, even Harry got. Fleur blushed at the raised eyebrows her little comment got.

-“Well… he is!”

**Author's Note:**

> The bits at the beginning come from the book.


End file.
